The Missing Piece
by IolantaStar1
Summary: Jack enjoys role-playing games, and Ianto doesn't mind playing along.


**The Missing Piece**

Ianto took a sip of his beer and sighed contentedly. It had been a difficult day punctuated at random intervals with particularly aggressive weevils, which the Rift saw fit to dump onto Cardiff in several separate locations. Weevils were violent by nature, but the local ones—those that had ended up on Earth a while ago as well as their progeny—kept to the sewers and tended to shun human contact. The real problem came when the Rift acted out and delivered new specimens, which is exactly what happened today not one or two, but five times. After such an arduous day, it was nice to sit in a bar surrounded by quote-unquote "normal" people and simply enjoy one's beer.

"Mind if I join you? Unless you don't want any company—"

Ianto recognized the voice without looking up. Jack was supposed to be in the Hub, typing up the reports on the capture of three weevils and the "permanent containment" of the other two, but he deserved some rest as well, and Ianto hardly blamed him for postponing the paperwork and deciding to come along after all.

"Well, sir, that would entirely depend on the company, wouldn't it?" he replied, still not looking up.

"Oh, I promise you that my company can be very… stimulating," Ianto had no problem imagining the impish grin on Jack's face.

"With such an intriguing recommendation, how can I possibly say no?" he said, gesturing at the chair on the other side of the small table.

Jack set his glass of whiskey down, took the offered seat, and stretched out a hand, "Jake Harris. And you are?"

"Jones, Ianto Jones," Ianto stammered in surprise. Well, this was something new. Strange name aside, Jack also looked differently. For one thing, he abandoned his ever-present RAF greatcoat in favor of a decidedly retro leather vest and tight jeans. His hair was combed in a slightly odd manner, and his face was a little smoother, seemingly unburdened with constant worry over the safety of the world. Ianto mentally shook himself out of his stupor. Truly, he ought to be used to Jack's quirks by now. After a day like today, Jack too felt the need to unwind, and an interesting game could always accomplish wonders. Ianto might not have known the rules, but that did not stop him from playing. Besides, all of Jack's games had the same ending, and it was a very pleasurable one for all parties involved. Ianto shook the proffered hand and added, "At your service," just to hear it, because it was something Jack would have said in his normal World War II soldier persona.

"Careful," the impish grin reasserted itself on Jack's face. "I just might take you up on that offer."

"Wouldn't be the first time I've been taken—up," Ianto smiled serenely and gazed at Jack with mischief in his eyes. Jack raised his eyebrows slightly. He seemed to be pleased with Ianto for being such a good sport. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we, sir? I don't even know anything about you. Other than your name, that is."

"That's easy enough. Let's start with the fact that I hate being called 'sir' unless I am doing something extremely kinky. Care to rectify the situation?"

"My apologies then. I guess from now on, I shall call you 'Jake'," Ianto smiled, making Jack pout a little by not taking him up on the implicit offer. This was the right choice, though. Jake Harris, the character, might not have been less than happy, but Jack Harkness, the actor, must have wanted to play out the role to the end. "And I don't know if that counts; you still haven't told me anything consequential."

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

"Well, judging from your unusual accent, you're an American. Am I correct?"

"Fresh off the ship," Jack smirked with a sparkle in his eyes.

"And what brings you to Cardiff, business or pleasure?"

"Unfortunately, it's business," Jack replied, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh?" Ianto raised his eyebrow. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm a procurer of sorts. My company sends me to different places to—procure—certain rare items."

"Rare items?" Ianto frowned. "What do you mean exactly?"

"Oh, antiques mostly, stuff of time… My company is even called Time Agency."

"Really? How quaint," Ianto commented pleasantly, only slightly raising his eyebrows.

"And what about you, Ianto Jones? I'm guessing that you are a Welshman, judging from your quite ordinary local accent."

"Oh, something tells me that that you don't mind my 'ordinary local accent'. You seem like the sort of bloke who fosters an inordinate fondness for Welsh vowels."

"Especially if they are produced by sweaty, completely uninhibited Welshmen," Jack leaned forward slightly, but Ianto moved just a little bit further out of reach.

"In that case, in my professional capacity, I highly recommend attending a rugby match," he said with a coy smile. "Can't think of a better way to hear sweaty Welshmen make uninhibited vowel sounds."

"I can. Want me to show you?"

"I'm not the one with the fascination with Welsh vowels. I'm afraid I hear those on the streets quite too often."

Jack's eyes glinted in a predatory way, which told Ianto that he was enjoying the hunt. All the better. Thuth be told, Ianto shared his fondness for witty repartee, and he did not particularly mind being caught in the end.

"You said that your recommendation is professional. So what is it that you do?" Jack apparently decided to change tack a little.

"I'm afraid that my job is nowhere near as exciting as yours. I work at a tourist information office—you know, helping out tourists in need. Well, right up your alley, I suppose."

"Oh, you're welcome up my alley any time you want," Jack answered predictably. They both knew that Ianto gave him that one.

"That can easily be arranged."

"Which is just what I was trying to do," they smirked at each other and took a moment to sip their respective drinks. Ianto found himself significantly rejuvenated. Flirting with Jack turned out to be just the right thing for getting his mind off murderous weevils.

"I can't help noticing that this Time Agency of yours has quite a bizarre dress code," Ianto said after a short pause, sweeping Jack's apparel with his gaze.

"Oh, you have no idea. Right now, I'm not working, though. We're allowed to dress casually when hitting on handsome Welshmen in local bars."

"Must be nice to work for a company with such perspicacious policies."

"Not as nice as hitting on the aforementioned Welshmen. It would be so dull to go on a company-paid trip to Cardiff and not indulge in some of my pet hobbies—and I don't just mean the ones that involve vowel sounds."

Jack slightly lowered his voice at the end of the last sentence, making it clear that he expected a follow-up question. For a moment, Ianto considered playing coy and pretending not to notice, but it seemed like the game might have been progressing to the next level, and he decided not to risk it. "Dare I ask what hobbies you are referring to?"

"Oh, I promise you, they're quite innocuous. I collect urban legends, and luckily, there are quite a few of those going around Cardiff. Well, given your professional knowledge of the area, maybe you can help me gather more information. Have you heard anything about this Torchwood organization, for example?" Jack looked up at his companion expectantly.

Ianto's eyes slightly widened. Torchwood was an ever-lasting passion in Jack's life. When forced to make sacrifice upon sacrifice, Jack hated it with all his heart, but when surrounded by his team, when locking the last captured weevil into a cell and calling it a good day because, just this once, there were no victims, he loved it to the point that everything else temporarily ceased to matter. And whether he loved or hated Torchwood, he was never indifferent towards it. Right now, though, "Jake" said the word "Torchwood" half-heartedly, as if Ianto's answer did not really matter to him in the great scheme of things and his question was spawned by nothing, but idle curiosity. Either that, or he was deliberately playing the part of a mysterious stranger trying to covertly extract information about Torchwood. Ianto wondered if "Jake" was a ruthless enough character to drag him to bed in exchange for that information. It certainly seemed so from the way the game was progressing thus far.

Regardless, Ianto could not very well abandon his own role either and gave his obvious surprise a different explanation, "Don't tell me you believe that rubbish about a super-secret government agency saving us, poor, unsuspecting mortals, from grave extraterrestrial threats. For one thing, I find it completely implausible that such an organization would be located in boring old Cardiff."

"I don't know… Cardiff has its own share of unexplained phenomena," Jack noted, shrugging as if it did not really matter.

"The most inexplicable thing I've ever seen in Cardiff is my neighbor getting pissed out of his mind all weekend long on a weekly basis and still somehow managing to go back to work every Monday at 8 o'clock sharp."

"Well," Jack chuckled, "are you sure that neighbor of yours doesn't work for Torchwood? I've heard they have super-classified cures for handovers there."

"I'm fairly certain that an underground superhero organization would have a bit higher hiring standards. I'm not quite sure what they'd put up as a job qualification, though. 'Must be willing to wear a cape… or at least a very long coat?'"

Jack simply laughed, not twitching a brow. "I guess that's what fascinates me with Torchwood—the logistics of it," he said, putting his chin on his folded hands. "You said 'underground', but what if it's literally down there, right under our feet, and we have no idea that we're walking over rooms upon rooms of invaluable alien technology? There certainly isn't a good, inconspicuous enough place for it above ground. If you had to guess, what would you say is the likeliest spot for an underground tunnel system in Cardiff?"

Ianto tilted his head and contemplated the question. Given his presumptive expertise as a tourist office employee, it would have been strange not to answer. At the same time, within the boundaries of the game, "Jake" was nothing but an inquisitive, potentially dangerous stranger, so telling him the truth, even disguised as a guess, was not a consideration. "Why, are you planning on playing Sherlock Holmes during your off-work hours?" Ianto decided to side step the question. If Jack's character were a harmless tourist after all and if Jack were just larking, he would let the matter drop.

"Only if you'll be my Dr. Watson," came the immediate response, and Ianto sighed with a mix of relief and disappointment. Had "Jake" really been a secret agent of some sort, it would have made the game more intense, but also more interesting.

"I'm not sure if I should agree. From my understanding of the Sherlock Holmes stories, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle meant that relationship to be strictly platonic."

"We'll have to forgive Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's short-sightedness. I don't think he ever imagined the two of us in those roles," Jack replied with a flirtatious grin. "Personally, I'm not a big fan of Victorian sensibilities. So what do you think, Dr. Watson, how will we solve the case of the mysterious underground organization?"

Apparently, Jack was not letting him off the hook after all. "Well, it depends on when that organization was built, does it not? It would have been easier to hide the construction of an underground system if something were simultaneously being built above ground. Unfortunately, local accounts concerning Torchwood's age seem to vary. Some claim that it's only a few years old, having been created after our supposedly supernaturally induced earthquake, while others think that it dates all the way back to Queen Victoria."

Ianto was not quite sure where his was going with this explanation, but fortunately, his mobile rang at just the right moment.

"Would you excuse me for a second?" he told Jack, pointing to the phone. Jack nodded and sipped his whiskey, as Ianto got up and retreated to a quiet corner a few feet away. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw that the call came from the Hub mainline. Gwen had already gone home for the night, so Ianto could not imagine why she came back. He flipped open the phone, "Hi, Gwen. How may I be of service?"

"I'm not sure about Gwen, but after filing all of those boring weevil reports, I certainly could use some servicing," he heard Jack's voice.

Ianto looked back at the table he had just left, but Jack was still sitting there, pleasantly finishing his drink. "Jack?!" Ianto asked into the phone just to make sure.

"Is there anyone else I should know of who might be calling you from the Hub phone to request a midnight rendezvous?"

"No," Ianto replied in a tightly controlled, even tone. "But I think you ought to be made aware of the fact that I've just spent the past half an hour chatting with a Time Agent by the name of Jake Harris, who happens to look exactly like you."

There was a long silence at the other end followed by a quiet and equally tense question, "Ianto, how is he dressed?"

"He's wearing a white T-shirt, a leather vest, blue jeans, a pair of trainers, and your regular wrist strap," Ianto listed methodically. From now on, this was work.

"Fuck! Shit!" Jack exploded with a string of obscenities. Ianto tried not to panic. Jack hardly ever swore, and when he did, it was a sure sign that things were going to hell in a hand basket.

Ianto listened patiently until the obscenities died down and then asked cautiously, "Who is he, Jack?"

"He's me, dammit! The past me, before I met the Doctor. I used to own that awful vest. And "Jake Harris"… I don't remember that name, but all aliases used by Time Agents have the initials JH. Makes it easier to identify each other in different eras. Fuck! The problem is I don't remember any of this, and I think I would've remembered it if I'd ever met you before that night in the park!"

"Do you remember every Welshman you've ever fucked?" Ianto tried to make his tone as impassive as possible, but it still turned out rather bitter.

There was a silence at the other end, and finally Jack said, "Did he fuck you?"

"Not yet, but that was definitely where this was heading."

"And you would've let him? You didn't think me wearing a leather vest and calling myself a Time Agent was a tiny bit weird?!" Jack shouted into the phone.

This was getting ridiculous. "Oh no, because you would never act strange around me! Besides which, how in the bloody hell was I supposed to tell that he isn't you when he fucking _is_ you?!"

"Touché," Jack replied after a short pause. He audibly took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I'm sorry."

"That's not even the worst of it," Ianto added hesitantly. "He was making inquiries about Torchwood."

"Fuck!" Jack swore again. "Let's hope he's free-lancing and hasn't been specifically sent here by the Time Agency. The last thing we need is more Time Agents showing up at Torchwood's doorstep. We have to deal with this situation as soon as possible."

Ianto closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again. "Leave it to me," he said, using his voice to project maximum reliability.

"What are you going to do? Ianto, if he finds out anything about the current me, the space-time continuum will suffer serious damage."

"Jack, I think I know my way around temporal paradoxes. I haven't been employed by Torchwood for the past three years for nothing," Ianto replied testily in an attempt to prevent further questioning. "Leave it to me. Meet me at my place in an hour," saying this, Ianto turned off the phone before Jack would have had a chance to object and made his way back to the table where Jake had been waiting for him. "Sorry about that," he smiled contritely. "It was my boss."

"Seemed a little more heated than that," Jake quirked his eyebrows slightly, and Ianto felt a surge of tenderness at his incredibly Jack-like expression.

"Well, he isn't just my boss," he smiled.

Jake smirked, "And this 'not just your boss' wouldn't mind you sharing the company of a very handsome, very well-endowed stranger?"

"Not if we allowed him to join in. I have a strong suspicion that you're just his type," Ianto quipped, and Jake smiled appreciatively.

"I like the way you think, Jones, Ianto Jones."

"If you like that, imagine how much you'll like the way I do other things."

"And just what things might those be?"

"Oh, I've been told that I make wonderful coffee. Care to accompany me to my place and find out for yourself?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Jake was on his feet in an instant.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Ianto got up with a sigh, gently combed his fingers through Jake's hair, and went to open the door. Jack burst in like a rush of water after a floodgate is lifted. Sweeping the living room with his gaze and taking in the sight of his former self sleeping on the sofa with two cups of coffee set in front of him on the coffee table, Jack stopped and turned around to face Ianto. "What happened?" he demanded to know.

Ianto turned away and took his time locking the door again. When all three locks were securely in place, he let in a deep breath, steadying himself a little before facing Jack again. It would have been meaningless to postpone the answer any longer. "I'm so sorry, Jack" he said quietly, looking straight into Jack's eyes. "There was no other way. I had to retcon him. …That's not all, though," he added, averting his gaze. "I only had Level 5 retcon."

There was a very long silence. After a little while, Ianto dared to look up at Jack, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to ascertain that the other man would not hate him for this decision. Jack was staring at him in shock, and somehow this was worse than being yelled at, because this was Jack Harkness, and he always knew what to say. But then, Ianto could not imagine what he would do if someone stole two years of his life, never mind that he himself kept a Level 5 retcon pill in his flat.

Finally, Jack closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and stepped towards Ianto. Ianto winced, expecting a blow, and felt his lips crushed in a passionate kiss.


End file.
